Hawaiian shirts are not great to wear while tailing your friend

"Something's up with North," York said as he slid into the seat across from Wash.

Wash—who was out of armor—stared at York blankly, his coffee mug halfway to his lips. "What?" he said.

"Something's up with North," York repeated and pointed at Wash's toast. "Thanks." He snatched it from the tray before Wash had a chance to say anything.

Wash glared at York but decided to cut his losses.

York waited patiently—a lie—as he watched Wash set his mug down, and dig the heel of his palms into his eye sockets before dragging his hands down his face in what York thought was a pathetic attempt to wipe away his lingering drowsiness. "What's wrong with North?" he finally asked.

"He's been real cagey lately," York answered immediately. He took a bite of the stolen toast and continued to talk around it. "Not showing up to social gatherings, like, say—" York waved his hand, gesturing to the mess hall around them— "mealtimes. He just takes food back to his and South's room."

"So? Maybe he just wants to spend time with South. For some reason," Wash muttered lowly, but York heard him.

"They are twins," York pointed out. "But no, this is different. I asked him if he wanted to join us for lunch before we went to the beach, and you know what he said?"

"Leave me alone?"

York ignored him. "He said no because he was going to the store." York threw his hands in the air. "The store!"

"The horror," Wash deadpanned.

Again, York ignored him. "Who goes to the store when shore leave is at a beach?" York shook his head. "North's hiding something, and as his best friends, we're going to follow him to make sure he's not involved in anything shady."

Wash shook his head immediately. "Nope, not doing that," he protested firmly. "That's a horrible idea. If North catches us, he's gonna be mad."

"It'll be fine," York waved away the rookie's concern. "He'll be confused or annoyed at most. After all, what's the worst that could happen?"

Wash gaped at him before loudly exclaiming, "Considering who we are and our track record, a lot! Also—" Wash reached over and rapped his knuckles on York's head. "Knock on wood."

York made a startled noise and swatted Wash's hand away. "Stop that," he huffed and gave Wash an annoyed look. "What was that for?"

Wash rolled his eyes like York's reaction was unreasonable. "Every time someone says that something always goes wrong," he stared at York pointedly. "I don't want my shore leave privileges revoked because you jinxed us, and something went wrong."

"What are you, a child?" York asked sourly but relented, rubbing his head, more for sympathy than anything else. "But did you really have to hit that hard?"

"Go cry about it," Wash grumbled into his mug.

York rolled his eyes. Early morning pre-coffee Wash was really something else—a dick, to start off with.

~~~~

By the time shore leave rolled around, York and Wash had crafted believable explanations for the rest of the team if they asked why they weren't attending lunch, as well as a strategy for how they were going to tail North. Even a backup plan that Wash insisted on in case, in his words, "for when things inevitably go FUBAR".

Thanks for the vote of confidence, Wash.

Convincing the team that they were gonna go check out some obscure store that interested nobody was easy—tailing a paranoid sniper was not.